


Mate

by joinedunderprotest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demisexual Gendry, F/M, arya just turned 18 while gendry's 22 and self-conscious about the age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinedunderprotest/pseuds/joinedunderprotest
Summary: One night changes things between Gendry and Arya forever.Gendry handles this development with all the delicacy and grace we'd expect of him.That is, none.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 73
Kudos: 376





	Mate

By three in the morning, Arya and Gendry are the last partiers standing.

Gendry has never been one to close out a party. Sometimes people, seeing his tall, dark, and handsome exterior and mistaking him for a cool person, invite him to parties, and if he can be bothered to go (that is, if Arya finds out and forces him to socialise for his own health), he proves them wrong by standing in a corner looking at his phone for forty-five minutes and then leaving without saying goodbye.

But this time is different for two reasons.

First, Arya’s friends with a lot of weird, seedy people. You think Gendry’s going to leave her alone after midnight with creepy Jaqen who refers to himself in the third person and calls her “lovely girl”? Not bloody likely.

Second … well, come on. It’s not just _a_ party, it’s Arya’s name day. It’s not every day your best mate turns eighteen. He’s willing to party for Arya’s sake.

But really, it’s late, all her guests have gone, and Arya’s making a final round, thanking all the employees at the club. Who makes new friends at three in the morning?

Arya Stark, that’s who.

Finally she bounds back over to him, face flushed with joy.

“That was _brilliant_ ,” she announces, practically hopping in place.

“Sure was,” Gendry agrees like that means anything coming from him. She smiles like it does. “You give any thought to how you’re getting back?”

“Carellen and I said we’d go back together.” She’s staying in a little flat with Carellen Smallwood until she can move into student housing in three weeks. “But she left an hour ago with that bloke with the hair.”

“Hated that bloke,” Gendry comments. “So what’s the plan?”

“I can just phone an Uber,” Arya reassures him, pulling out her phone.

“Oh, yeah, lone drunk girl getting an Uber at three in the morning. _In King’s Landing_. That’ll end well.”

“I am not drunk!” she insists, forgetting her phone and planting her hands on her hips. “I had two drinks because legally I can, but that was hours ago.”

“You’re still a girl on your own, and this city is still a shithole. C’mon.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and steers her toward the doors. “My flat’s ten minutes away. You can sleep on the couch.”

The name day girl is flying too high on her coming of age to argue. They step out into the still-warm summer night, laughing over increasingly terrible renditions of the name day song and speculating about Hot Pie’s chances with that pretty caterer. Gendry had half a beer six hours ago, but he feels drunk off Arya’s joy.

They make their way back to the flat. Gendry offers her a t-shirt and some rolled up shorts, and she goes off to the toilet to change while Gendry does the same in his room. He brings her an extra blanket for the couch, but when he sets off for bed, she grabs him by the arm.

“No, don’t go,” she says, her voice low. Hot Pie’s got to be up for his shift in an hour, and they don’t want to wake him. “Come sit with me. I’m never going to fall asleep at this rate.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s gone three, Arya.” But he sits.

Arya makes room for him on the couch, tossing the blanket aside to bring her legs up to her chest. “That was a good party, wasn’t it?”

“It was nice.” He settles in, bringing an arm up to rest on the back of the couch.

“And now I’m an adult!” She throws her arms up in quiet celebration, then falls back, her head landing on the back of his hand.

“Do you feel different?” he asks. “More mature or something?”

When Gendry turned eighteen, he celebrated by moving out of his foster home and into a grungy little flat. Arya was there to help him carry his meagre belongings, and then she presented him with a slightly squashed cake and they watched dog videos on her phone until she ran out of data because he didn’t have wi-fi yet. He felt half like a grown man and half like a lost child.

Tonight, though, Arya just smiles serenely. “I guess. I mean, I think so. I’m an adult, you know? I can do all the things I always wanted to but never could.”

“Wait, the last six years have been you _restrained?_ ” He shudders at the possibilities. “We’re all going to die.”

She pokes him in the ribs and sticks her tongue out at him.

“That’s not very adultlike of you,” he chides. “Oh, well. No matter how old you get, I’m always going to think of you as that hard-faced little twelve-year-old on community service.”

“Don’t say that. I’m _not_ twelve anymore.”

“In my mind, you are. A skinny little ASBO with a bad haircut.” He reaches up to tug on a lock of her hair, and when she bats at his hand he tangles it deeper to annoy her.

“I’m not!” She gives up on trying to free herself and turns her face back to him. “I’m not a kid anymore, am I? Take a good look at me. Really look.”

So he does. To humour her on her name day.

He starts at the very top. Her choppy brown hack job of a haircut from when she was twelve is down to her shoulders now. It’s messy from the pins she pulled out and his own attack, but it’s shiny and it frames her face. It’s a good face, too, grown out of prepubescent gawkiness, with her grey eyes bright and clever, even in the late-night semi-darkness of his living room.

His gaze skips down, past the long arch of her pale neck. She’s wearing an old t-shirt that he shrunk in the wash. The thin material hides nothing, though a minute ago he would have sworn there was nothing to hide. She had to roll his shorts over six or seven times to make them sit snugly on her slim hips. Now there are miles of long, strong legs, and his palms itch at the sight of them.

No. Arya’s not a child anymore.

Gendry needs to get to bed.

He opens his mouth to stammer out a goodnight, but Arya’s lips part at the same time, and he forgets what he was about to say. Without his meaning to, his hand buried in her hair shifts, his thumb moving back to stroke the edge of her cheekbone, and she leans into it.

“Gendry,” she speaks into the night, her voice so soft it’s more of a sigh, and the blood drains from Gendry’s head.

One of them leans in. He doesn’t know who. When he looks back over this night (and he does, many, many times), he never figures out who moved first. He just knows that their lips meet in the middle, for one perfect, still moment.

And then she’s in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips, kissing him desperately as he draws her close. Their hands wander, exploring skin they’ve never touched before, gripping and pulling at clothes. Their lips clash, tongues meeting to fight and twine together, until they pull apart to breathe, and Gendry wastes no time, diving into the crook of her neck, sucking hard, until her moan splits the air.

In the split-second after that, the last remnants of Gendry’s good sense fight to take control.

He raises his head from her neck, just an inch or two at first, and even that feels like too much. Finally he lifts up all the way, casting a wary eye toward the door to Hot Pie’s room, worried they’ve woken him, that he’ll have to explain what they’re doing.

What are they doing?

He looks back at Arya – cheeks flushed, lips swollen, chest heaving. So pretty. He never noticed it before, but she’s so, so pretty. Her hands are on his shoulders, one finger slipped past the neckline of his shirt and warming his skin. He wants what he’s never wanted before.

She’s straddling his lap. There’s no way she can’t feel it.

He waits for one of them to say something. It should be him. He should say they’re drunk, even though they’re not. He should say sorry. He should say goodnight. He should say anything at all.

She’s the one who says something.

And what she says is, “Bedroom.”

And he stands up, holding her by the backs of her thighs as she wraps herself around him and distracts him with a long, slow kiss. He fumbles for the doorknob without pulling away from her lips, stumbling back into his room until his knees hit the edge of the bed and they collapse in a graceless heap on his mattress. They part just enough to laugh headily at the hopeless tangle of their limbs, and then they lock eyes and go back in for another kiss, and another.

Arya sits up on her knees. In the dim glow of the lamppost outside the window, he can see her bite her lip like she does when she’s nervous, but with a determined breath she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. He sits up to take in the sight of Arya topless, with her small, high breasts and dusky nipples. He raises a hand to one without thinking, but she smacks it away. He retreats at once, scared he’s ruined something, but she only juts out her chin, one corner of her mouth lifting.

“I’m not the only taking off my clothes here,” she says, cruelly lifting an arm to block her breasts from view. “You want to touch them, you return the favour.”

He chuckles, relieved, and yanks his shirt off. She stares intently at his form, then pulls her arm away from her chest to reach out and touch him, moving in close and tracing the muscles on display.

He reaches for her, starting out safely at the curve of her hip and, when she doesn’t object, sliding up the dip of her waist until he holds her breast in his hand, the soft weight of it maddening. He strokes her nipple with his thumb, receiving a small sound from her, and it so encourages him he dips his head down, closing his lips around her. She rises up on her knees, clutching at the back of his head, breath speeding up, grabbing at his hand to bring it up to her other breast, squeezing harder, earning him an eager whimper.

He doesn’t relent until Arya taps the back of his head. He pulls back, looking up at her, not sure if she wants to stop or try something else. He’ll give her anything she asks for. He catches her eyes locked on the massive bulge in his lap, and he suddenly wishes he hadn’t worn grey trackies to bed.

“Gendry,” she whispers, dragging her gaze back up to meet his, “do you … do you have protection?”

There’s a screeching sound in his brain.

He does. There’s an unopened box of condoms in his nightstand. Davos pressed them into his hand years ago, “just in case.” Now Arya wants to use them with him.

Slowly, he nods. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” There’s no doubt there.

“Okay, good,” he says stupidly, because his blood is not flowing brainwards right now.

They both pause, unsure what to do next.

To neither’s surprise, Arya moves first. She gets up from the bed, gesturing him to stand with her. He gets up, standing in front of her, breathing her air. She hooks her thumbs in her waistband, but his join in before she can make a move. With stuttered laughter, they both pull her shorts down, and her knickers with them. He watches them pool at her feet for a moment before he can bring himself to take her in: naked, perfect.

“Come on,” she prompts. “Fair’s fair.” Together, they take his trackies off, and she doesn’t pretend she’s not staring at his dick. The sight of it hard and straining clearly perks her up because she flashes him a wide smile and tosses herself back on the bed.

“Get over here,” she beckons, spreading her legs for him. He crawls between them, accepting her kisses and running his fingers up her thigh to find her warm and wet. For _him_. She giggles as he trails a finger over her slit, dipping the tip of his finger inside, but her breath stutters and her hips jerk when his searching thumb finds her clit.

“There,” she gasps, nodding as he presses his thumb against her in a firm circle. “That’s good. That’s– _gods_ , Gendry.”

He buries his smile in her neck, licking and sucking at the skin there as his thumb speeds up and his fingers slip inside her. She tilts her head back and pushes her hips into his hand, offering him everything he can take, and he takes it. A sheen of sweat breaks out on her forehead, and he leans up to kiss it, tasting salt. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, making him swallow her rising moans. He crooks his fingers inside her, massaging her walls, feeling them flutter and tighten around him.

“I’m gonna come,” she pants against his lips. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna– _ah!_ ”

She keens as she comes, her body taut, nails digging into his back, and he watches it happen even as he rubs her just a little harder. It’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Finally, she comes down from her high and slumps back down on the bed. His fingers are still wet with her, and he can’t resist the urge to bring them up to his nose, to smell them, to taste them.

Her jaw drops at the sight.

“Condoms,” she finally says. “Where are they?”

He points – with his Arya-soaked fingers – and she scrabbles for the drawer, reaching until she finds the box at the back, impatiently ripping the top open and producing a foil packet. She guides him to sit back against his headboard. She straddles him once again, so that he’s aware of the cheap pine at his back and the soft breasts flush against his chest.

“Slow down,” he says, putting a steadying hand on her hip. “There’s no rush.”

She freezes, peeking up at him from between her lashes. She has beautiful eyes. He kisses her once, just because tonight he can.

“I know,” she concedes. “It’s just…”

“What?” He strokes her back. “You can tell me.”

“I,” she starts, staring at spot over his shoulder. “I haven’t … _done this_ before.”

“Oh.”

She’s never had a boyfriend. She’d have told him if she had. This only makes sense.

But having it made plain to him that Arya wants him to be her first is kind of really fucking with him.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Then you should probably know I haven’t either.”

Her eyes snap back to him. “What?”

“You didn’t notice the dust on the box of condoms?” he tries to joke.

She shakes her head. “But you’re … _you._ ” She gestures at him as if his body is argument enough.

It probably should be. It’s not like he hasn’t had _offers_. At those shitty parties, in class, in line at the supermarket. He’s twenty-two, he’s fit, and he _can_ get sex, so it follows that he _should_ get sex.

But he’s never really been bothered about it. Once at a fresher party, his first year of uni, he downed some terrible beers and tried snogging a tall, funny blonde with tits the size of his head, and when she stuck her hand down his jeans, he nearly yawned in her face; he pulled her hand out, ducked out of the party, and never bothered again.

There are pretty girls in the world, and there are handsome lads, and he’s never much wanted to take any of them to bed.

Until now, apparently. Now, when he’s got his best friend naked in his lap and feels like he might die if he doesn’t get inside her.

Funny how that works out.

“So,” Arya says, puzzling it out, “I’m the first? There’s no one else?”

He nods, not sure if that’s a point for or against him.

Looks like it’s for, going by the slow, wolfish smile spreading across her face. “Alright, then.”

He gets another kiss, and he enjoys it for a moment before pulling back.

“Couple of virgins fucking,” he muses. “This is probably going to be a right mess.”

“Messy’s fine,” she says, tearing open the foil packet. “We can handle messy.”

She rolls the condom down his length, and he clenches his fists in the sheets to avoid embarrassing himself at the first touch. She lines her hips up with his, and he holds his cock steady.

“Yeah?” he checks one more time.

“Yeah.”

And then she takes him inside her.

Fuck.

She’s sitting on him and he’s trying to hold still because it’s her first time and she’s going so slowly and carefully but _fuck_. She’s tight and wet and so, so good. When she’s taken him all the way, they both breathe deeply. He kisses her shoulder, turning to murmur in her ear, “You okay?”

“I think so.” She squeezes her muscles around his shaft experimentally, and he nearly dies. She chuckles at his agonised sound. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”

“Pure evil, that’s what you are,” he breathes, taking hold of her hips. He lifts her up his cock and then back down.

Once again, fuck.

She makes an approving sound, and when he lifts her again, she helps raise herself up. They falter for a moment, trying to work out a rhythm, but eventually they figure it out and he sits back, watching her bounce in his lap, biting her lip again. He tilts his face for a kiss, and this time he’s the one to bite her lip. She purrs into his mouth and speeds up, the force of her movements making him hit the headboard with every thrust.

She tightens her muscles around him again and again in an effort to kill him, and it nearly works.

“Fuck, Arya,” he groans, bucking up into her.

“Gendry. Oh, oh, _Gendry_.”

His name on her lips, her tits in his face, her tight cunt around his cock, it’s all too much and it’s just enough and his stomach clenches, balls tightening, coming hard.

She runs her fingers through his sweaty hair as he rests his head against her chest. They sit like that for a few minutes as they catch their breath, afraid to make a move and pop this bubble.

Finally, without a word, they slip apart. Arya slips his t-shirt back over her head, disappearing into the toilet, while he disposes of the condom. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching the first grey lights of dawn, the same colour as Arya’s eyes when he was deep inside her. Such a nice colour.

Arya appears in his doorway, standing like she’s not quite sure if she’s invited in or if he still wants her to sleep on the couch. He pulls back the rumpled covers, climbing in and waiting for her to join him.

She does, lying down beside him. He’s still searching for the right words, but his eyes are just so heavy. All he can manage before he slips off to sleep is, “Happy name day, Arya.”

“Yeah,” he hears her sleepy mumble, “it was.”

-

_Beep beep beep beep bee–_

Hot Pie groans into his pillow, reaching blindly for his phone in the grey light of dawn. He usually gets a good night’s sleep when he has to get up early for his shift opening the bakery, but he stayed out later than usual last night. It was Arry’s birthday, after all, _and_ that pretty girl wanted to hear all about his epic adventures in chou pastry.

Still, he’s got get to work, so he rolls to his feet, whining quietly to himself as he shrugs into his uniform. He steps out of his room, shuffling off to brush his teeth when he stops in his tracks.

There are noises coming from Gendry’s room.

 _Noises_ noises.

He’s lived with Gendry for over a year, and he’s never heard those noises coming from _Gendry’s_ room.

His first thought is to be happy for his friend. Gendry works so hard and is so grumpy all the time, but he’s always gotten annoyed whenever Hot Pie has gently suggested he ought to get laid. Finally getting some might make him loosen up a bit, which the man badly needs.

Though on second thought, he considers, it was pretty unkind of Gendry to choose Arya’s party of all nights to take someone home. It’s not like she wouldn’t have noticed. Hurting her feelings like that on her name day, honestly.

Hot Pie shakes his head, starting off once more, until Gendry’s voice floats through the wall.

“ _Fuck, Arya.”_

Hot Pie freezes again. Did he just–?

_“Gendry. Oh, oh, Gendry.”_

He did.

That was definitely Arya’s voice, in a tone he’s never heard from her before and never wants to again.

It’s as the sounds coming through the wall get louder and more insistent that Hot Pie’s third thought comes to him, and it’s that brushing his teeth isn’t really all that important and he should definitely leave now, before those two finish and come out to find him standing there listening.

His fourth thought, once he’s made it to the bakery in record time, is that in his rush, he’s forgotten his wallet, phone, and keys.

-

Gendry dreams of Arya.

He dreams of her in his arms. Calling out his name. Riding his cock.

He dreams of her kissing him and gently whispering, “I have to go,” slipping away even as he groans and tries to pull her back into bed.

He wakes up with the sun bright on his face, and for a minute he thinks it was only a dream.

He hasn’t dreamt of her like that before. It’s new, that’s for sure, and he’s never going to tell her or she’ll break his nose, but it was just a stupid, heart-stopping dream.

Until he rolls over and finds the bed smells of her.

She’s never been in his bed before. She’s been in his flat plenty of times, slept on the couch once or twice, but that’s it. People might give him funny looks for having a teenaged girl as his best mate, but part of what’s always made it work is that he laid out boundaries. And one of them was that he wouldn’t let her near his bed.

Until last night. When he fucked her in it.

What’s he done? What the fuck has he done?

-

Hot Pie’s bagging up a loaf of his finest sourdough for another happy customer when Gendry staggers in.

He doesn’t much look like someone who got lucky last night. No spring in the step for old Gendry.

“Morning, Hot Pie,” he says, trying to sound casual.

Hot Pie checks the clock. “It’s past noon.”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Gendry says, looking over his shoulder. “You, er, you left your things in the kitchen. I thought I’d bring them by for you.”

“Oh, thanks!”

Gendry hands it over, then drums his fingers on the countertop. “So, er…”

“So.”

“So.”

Hot Pie’s got a pumpernickel in the oven, so he speeds things up a bit. “Do you have anything you want to talk about, Gendry?”

Gendry’s shoulders slump, his massive frame shrinking. He takes a long breath before he can bring himself to confess.

“I slept with Arya.”

Hot Pie tries very hard to look surprised. He raises his eyebrows as far as they’ll go and drops his jaw, but decides against a gasp. He doesn’t want to oversell it.

“Did you?”

Gendry nods miserably.

“Oh.” Hot Pie gropes for words. “Well, that’s good.”

Gendry’s head snaps back up. “Good? Hot Pie, that wasn’t _good._ ”

That’s more of a surprise, actually. They’d certainly sounded like they were enjoying themselves, as far as Hot Pie could tell.

“No? Well, she’s still young and all. Inexperienced. I’m sure eventually–”

Gendry lifts a hand to cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“No, I don’t mean _it_ wasn’t good. _It_ was–” Gendry’s eyes glaze over, the corners of his lips turning up.

That makes more sense. He’s happy for them. Or he would be, if Gendry hadn’t shaken himself and looked miserable again.

“So what’s wrong?” Hot Pie asks. “You two had a nice time, and I think you’d be well cute together. I say go for it.”

“She’s _eighteen_.”

“Yeah, it’s legal. Eighteen means she’s an adult.”

“Yeah, and she’s been an adult for one entire day. I swear, I’m not one of those sad men on the internet who have countdowns to actresses’ name days.”

“I never thought you were,” Hot Pie says, shocked that Gendry might think otherwise.

“But I’m not that different, am I? I took advantage of her, basically the minute she was legal. Her first time should have been with someone special.”

Hot Pie doesn’t think it gets much more special than Gendry where Arya’s concerned, but Gendry’s not in the mood to be told nice things.

“What are you gonna do?” he questions.

Gendry shrugs, defeated. “I dunno. S’not like I can take it back.”

There’s a faint buzz in the air. Gendry digs his phone out of his pocket to check it, fingers tightening as he stares at the screen.

“Is it from Arya? Did she say something?”

Gendry gives a weary little chuckle, shaking his head. “She’s out with her parents. They’re taking her to brunch before they head back up north, and she’s live-tweeting some drama about them being out of smoked trout.”

Oh, no! “Have they got any smoked salmon instead?”

Gendry glares. “Not the issue, Hot Pie.”

“Right, sorry. Did she say anything about last night?”

“No, she’s just making brunch puns.” Gendry scans his messages. “Wait, hang on, she says they’ll be leaving this afternoon and can she come by the flat tonight?”

“Say yes, say yes!” Hot Pie urges.

Gendry nods, tapping out a reply. He looks up, wide-eyed. “What do I say tonight?”

 _That you’ve been the cutest couple in Westeros for years and years without noticing, and it’s time to make it official now that you’re both adults and have good sex._ “You’ll think of something.”

-

Gendry checks his reflection in the microwave. He’s trying to avoid last night’s mistakes, and that involves clothes. They were in their thin, light pyjamas, and it only fuelled the weird, tense air that eventually combusted. Tonight, he’s taking no risks. He’s put on his good jeans and a long-sleeved navy jumper Arya herself gave him. He’s fully covered up – in the dog days of summer, for fuck’s sake – and he hopes wearing Arya’s gift will help remind them both of their deep friendship that must be salvaged at all costs.

“Does this outfit say, ‘You’re my best friend in the world and I know I can’t take back what I did but I promise never to seduce you again and ruin our friendship’?”

Hot Pie blinks, mouth twisting pensively around half a jammy dodger. “That’s a lot of things to say, really.”

Gendry paces the kitchen, which is a four-second round trip.

“Maybe I should cancel,” he says, like a coward. “Give her space. I can say I’m sorry later. By text.”

A key rattles in the front door lock. It sounds like his doom.

“Why the fuck did I give her a key,” he mutters.

“Because she’s your friend, and you trust her a lot,” Hot Pie reminds him, putting his plate in the sink. “And because she kept picking the lock and you were scared she’d get arrested. Again.”

Gendry puts his hands in his pockets, trying to pretend he’s a normal, casual human being, as Hot Pie opens the door.

“Hello, Arry!” he hears Hot Pie greet. “I hear you had a great name day!”

In the silence that follows, Gendry considers giving Hot Pie a little smack. With the table.

“I sure did,” Arya’s voice finally filters through as Gendry stares at the ceiling, wanting to die. “I brought Yi-Tish for dinner. Are– are you staying to eat with us?”

“I’d love to, but I’m going for a drink with Sally. You remember her, she was working your party.”

“Right, Gendry and I were talking about her.”

Were they? The parts of last night that weren’t sex with Arya have sort of dimmed in his mind.

He hears Hot Pie wish her goodnight and her stepping inside. He ends his contemplation of the chipped paint in the corner to take a look at her.

Oh, shit.

Arya’s wearing jeans, too, nice tight ones that wrap around her hips. ( _He_ was wrapped around her hips last night, and they were– _shut the fuck up._ ) She’s wearing an old t-shirt, worn so thin it’s got some extremely distracting holes in it. She’s actually brushed her hair, and she’s got makeup on. Lipstick.

Red lipstick.

That’s …

New.

Arya brandishes her brown paper bag. “I hope you’re hungry for fried rice and Turrani noodles.”

He cannot stop staring at her lips. Two days ago, he’d have been hard-pressed to say positively she had a mouth at all, except that the ten million words a minute had to come from somewhere.

 _Two days ago, she was legally a child_ , he reminds himself, and it shakes him out of his stupor. He manages to shamble himself through setting the table and sitting down to eat.

He struggles to open their discussion. He’s never been good with words, and hasn’t a clue which ones you’d use to express, “Sorry I preyed on you like some sad creep, let’s figure out a way to stay friends and pretend we didn’t lose our virginities to each other.”

But Arya tells him about the funny waitress at brunch, which turns into reminiscing about that takeaway where they got food poisoning, which turns into a heated debate about cardboard versus newspaper.

And Gendry thinks, maybe this is going to be okay. Maybe he hasn’t broken this. Maybe they’ll keep what they have and he doesn’t even have to grovel and beg forgiveness.

He’s so absorbed in this magical scenario where he doesn’t lose the best thing in his life that he doesn’t notice his loose hold on his chopsticks until he’s dropped a dumpling, leaving a plum sauce smear down his shirt.

Arya’s on her feet in an instant, leading him over to the sink, dabbing at the stain with a wet cloth.

“Think it’s ruined?” he asks, watching her as she works. She’s standing so close, and he hates that he notices that.

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “Wouldn't that be shame? It’s _such_ a nice jumper.”

He chuckles. “I know. This little pain in the arse gave it to me.”

She swats at him with the cloth, then she grows serious and warm. “I thought it would bring out your eyes. And it did.”

Her own eyes are sparkling, and it makes his chest tighten in a way a thousand times more dangerous than that red lipstick.

“I’m really glad you wore it tonight,” she says quietly. Without breaking eye contact, she takes hold of the bottom of the shirt and lifts, pulling it over his head. He offers no resistance, pulling her in close once she’s tossed it to the side and lowering his head to kiss her pretty red lips.

She happily lets him press her up against the counter, hooking her leg around his waist and bringing her centre in contact with his hardness. He grinds up against her, showering sloppy kisses on her, moving to undo the top button of her jeans.

He makes a last attempt at restraint, though for more practical reasons than his high-minded ideals from twenty minutes ago.

“Aren’t you sore?” he questions, thumb tracing the rim of her belly button.

“No,” she lies immediately.

He pulls back a little. “We shouldn’t do this if it’s going to hurt you.”

He knows, and his dick knows, that if it weren’t for that, he’d do it. Friendship and morals be damned, he’s dying to have sex with her again.

Arya considers this, thoughtfully stroking his cheek, which feels inconveniently nice.

“Counteroffer,” she proposes.

He waits.

She leans into him, spinning them around until he’s the one against the counter. She presses a kiss to his collarbone, leaving a red lip print behind. Then she presses another to his breastbone. And another, slightly lower. And another, working her way down until she’s kneeling on his kitchen floor.

Arya Stark is the world’s greatest negotiator.

-

Hot Pie returns home, thinking hard. Sally is a lovely girl, and he’d like to see her again, but she’s gluten-free, so he’s not sure they have any real future.

As he opens his front door, he’s so busy questioning whether or not he could see himself using rice flour or, Mother’s mercy, _almond_ flour long-term that he nearly crashes into Arya, who’s on her way out.

“Hey, Hot Pie!” she says just a little too quickly.

She was wearing a nice cherry-coloured lipstick when she showed up earlier. Now there’s just a pale smear of it across the bottom half of her face.

Apparently, she took being rejected extremely well.

“Evenin’, Arry,” he greets with a smile. They stand around for a moment.

“Well, goodnight,” she says overly brightly, squeezing past him into the hall. Over her shoulder, she calls, gentler, “’night, Gendry!”

There’s a mumbled reply from the kitchen. When Hot Pie ventures in there, he finds Gendry sitting, staring off into space. Half his face is stained red, too, and most of his neck.

“So, how’d it go?” Hot Pie asks, just to give Gendry a chance to tell him himself.

“Not … as planned.”

“So you didn’t tell her you’re better off as friends,” Hot Pie guesses, pulling some crackers out of the cupboard.

“Not in so many words, no.”

Hot Pie meticulously plates his snack. “Have you given up on that?”

“No!” The bark comes so quickly Hot Pie nearly drops his crackers. “No, I just need to try again. I won’t get distracted next time.”

How could he not get distracted when he’s finally realised how pretty Arry’s gotten? Still, Hot Pie shrugs one shoulder, taking a seat. “Good luck to you.”

He moves to set down his plate, but Gendry’s hand shoots out to stop him.

“Don’t eat there!” he shouts. After a moment, he adds, sheepish, “The, er, the table needs cleaning.”

Hot Pie stares.

Gendry’s blush is partly hidden behind the remnants of Arya’s lipstick.

Hot Pie decides to eat his snack in his room.

-

The next day, Gendry invites Arya over again, rehearsing his clumsy speech in his head over and over again as he waits for her to show up.

When Arya arrives, she puts a hand on the back of his neck, drags him down so his ear is next to her mouth, and whispers, “I’m not sore today.”

He doesn’t quite get around to the speech.

Hot Pie takes to pointing questioningly at any flat surface in the apartment before he dares to sit down.

-

The day after, he takes her to a café, thinking being in public will force him to control himself.

Arya plays footsie under the table.

The loos in that café are surprisingly spacious.

-

He tries texting her that he has a headache. She rushes over with Nurofen and a tin of his favourite tea. They don’t have sex, but they watch Netflix, and he’s got his head in her lap while she gently massages his temples.

Somehow, that’s worse.

-

**From: Arya**

_carellen broguhther new bf here ive been sexiled_

**From: Arya**

_can i come over to irs?_

**From: Arya**

_*urs_

**From: Arya**

_*cum ;)_

He can’t keep doing this. He really can’t.

When his phone vibrated, he practically leapt over his bed to get to it, hoping it was a message from Arya. And when it was, he sat there for a moment with a stupid grin on his stupid face, not just because she wanted to come see him but because her endless typos ( _“Autocorrect is for cowards, Gendry!”_ ) were just so _cute_.

It’s like a switch has been flipped in him. The things that were just standard Arya a week ago are now unbearably attractive – every word, every gesture reminds him that he wants her so badly it aches. All those years, sex was never much of a concern, and suddenly it’s all he thinks about.

No, that’s not even true. He thinks about other things. He thinks of the kiss she pressed to his cheek before walking out of his flat, the look in her eyes when they locked ankles in the coffee shop, the soft pressure of the pads of her fingers as she worked at his headache.

He can’t do this to himself. More than anything, he’s terrified that when the sex stops, when she finds herself a proper boyfriend, he’ll still be thinking about that damned warmth in his chest when she was so tender and so very Arya with him.

**To: Arya**

_Yeah, come over._

If they don’t stop this now, he’s certain that feeling won’t ever go away.

He mopes into the kitchen. Hot Pie is in his pyjamas and fuzzy robe, organising the spice rack, whistling to himself.

“Listen, do you think you could clear out of here for a couple of hours? Arya’s coming over.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Hot Pie asks him, shaking his head. “You’re going to pull a muscle at this rate.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Gendry says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to talk to her.”

“You said the same thing every day this week.” He brandishes a bottle of sage at him. “You’d think a man who ‘talks’ so much would be a bit cheerier, really.”

Gendry doesn’t laugh.

“No, I’m serious. This has been going on for too long. I’m gonna tell her that it needs to stop. We might even have to spend a little time apart, so we can figure out how to get back to normal. I’m hoping it won’t come to that, but. Maybe.”

Hot Pie looks surprised – proper surprised, not that silly panto face he makes when he’s pretending. He takes a seat, looking up at Gendry.

“You sure?”

Gendry nods, staring at the scuffed floor tile. “It’s for the best. I just want everything to be like before.”

“Such a pity,” Hot Pie comments, tapping the bottle on the table top. “Arry’s going to be so upset.”

She will, and that’s his fault. Shame lashes at him.

“Arya wants to save our friendship just as much as I do.”

“Yeah, of course, but it’s got to hurt, having the man you’re in love with tell you to keep away from him.”

“Even if it hurts, it’s better to–” He freezes. “What did you just say?”

“And she’s been _so_ happy these last few days, poor dear.”

“No, no, shut up, go back. _What did you say?_ ”

“I just mean, you know, she loves you, it looked like you were going to get together, and now you’re saying you don’t want to. Even if it’s friendship first for her, too, it’s bound to break her heart.”

There’s so much wrong with what Hot Pie just said, Gendry can only babble for a minute before latching onto the main issue.

“Arya’s not in love with me.”

Hot Pie’s brow wrinkles.

“What are you talking about? Of course she is.”

“No, she’s not.”

“She couldn’t have been more obvious about it if she wrote it on a cake,” Hot Pie insists. He cocks his head. “Did you never notice? I figured you didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to embarrass her. I never thought you didn’t know. _Everyone_ knows.”

Gendry blinks, slowly shaking his head. No. No, no, no. That’s not possible. Arya’s an heiress from one of the best families in Westeros. She’s whip smart and great at making friends. As he’s only just noticed, she’s gorgeous. Meanwhile, he’s a sour orphan going to university on a scholarship and a prayer. She can’t be–

She just can’t.

Hot Pie lurches to his feet. “You know, that bin is way too full. I’m gonna take it out to the skip.”

He grabs the kitchen bin, holding it to his chest like a child, and scurries out of the flat, housecoat and all.

Gendry migrates over to the couch, running a hand over his face. If Arya’s in love with him – and he’s not accepting she is, clearly Hot Pie’s talking out of his arse – what does that mean? Does that make him slightly better or so much worse?

Worse, he suspects. It’s not really love, he understands. She’s fancied him. Because he’s around, because he’s who she knows. And that means she didn’t shag him just for fun. She wasted her first time, and however many years she spent feeling that way, on a bloke like him. He should have put a stop to that.

Shame strikes at him once again, and this time it draws blood.

The door opens. Arya walks in. She’s not smiling.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I ran into Hot Pie outside,” Arya informs him.

“Oh?” He picks at the skin around his thumb.

“He grabbed me by the arm and said a lot of things really, really quickly.” She sits in the charity shop armchair, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “He said that you’ve been miserable all week. That you just want to be friends.”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Okay.” Her voice cracks, and she steadies it ruthlessly. “ _Okay_. If– if that’s what you want. We can. That’s fine. But can I at least ask why?”

His brows creases. “ _Why?_ ”

“Hot Pie also said he told you how I feel about you. And that you never knew that.” To his horror, she scrubs furiously at humiliated tears. “Is it because you have a problem with that?”

He blinks incredulously. “Of course I have a problem with that!”

Arya folds in on herself. “Right. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sorry that I… Anyway, I’m sorry.”

He’s off the couch in an instant, kneeling before, trying to get her to meet his eye. “No, Arya, you don’t understand. This is my fault.”

She picks at the loose, fraying threads of the armrest. “You can’t help the way you feel. I didn’t know you hated the idea so much. For a minute, I thought you felt the same way. It was stupid.”

She won’t look at him.

He covers her hand with his, and his breath hitches at the same time as hers.

“Arya,” he says softly, “I’m older than you. I should have been the one to make the responsible choice.”

Arya manages to give him a look.

“You’re twenty-two, Gendry,” she reminds him. “You’re hardly some ancient fuck with two kids and a mortgage. If anyone took advantage, it’s me.”

“What?” How could she think that?

“I’m the one who’s been in love with you for years. I know you could do better, but when we slept together, I thought that meant something – especially because it was your first time, too. So I’ve just been running around all week, thinking we were together and everything was great, and now it turns out you’ve been miserable the whole time. You’re my best friend, I should have noticed, but I didn’t, and I’m really, really sorry.”

Softly, he shakes his head. How does he explain that it did mean something – that it meant everything? That it was the best night of his life, but he had no right to it?

“Arya, I know you think you’re in love with me–” the words are heavy in his throat “–but that’s just because you haven’t got any experience. Someday you’re going to meet someone better, who actually deserves you, and then you’ll be embarrassed you ever believed for a single second you fancied me.”

Arya rolls her teary eyes.

“Don’t mansplain my love, dickhead,” she scoffs. “There is no one better than you. You’re brilliant, and funny, and you make me feel like it’s safe to be myself, not to mention you’re fit as hell. I really fucking love you, okay? It’s okay if you don’t love me back, but just admit it, yeah? Just tell me right now, ‘I don’t feel that way about you,’ and we’ll put this behind us, and I– I’ll figure out a way to stop feeling like that. Eventually. Go on, say it. Let’s get it over with.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue. _I don’t feel that way about you_. He can say it and get the reset he’s been praying for all week. They can go back. He just has to speak the words.

But.

Those incredible things she just said. She makes it sound like she really does love him. Not because he’s around but because he’s him. It’s a lot like why he’s always loved her as his best friend. He wants her to keep being his best friend.

But.

That night. And the days after. She felt new and exciting and so incredible he thought he’d die when he was touching her, but she felt familiar, too. Still his best friend, but also something more. He thought he had no right to that. He thought he stole that feeling from Arya and whatever utter bastard would eventually be hers.

 _But_.

She wants _him_ to be that bastard. Gods know why, but she does. It’s not some schoolgirl crush; she wants to be with him. And he … he wants that, too. He’s never wanted anyone before, but look at him now.

Wanting Arya.

 _Loving_ Arya.

He pries her hand off the armrest and takes it in his own. It trembles in his grasp.

“Just say it already,” she pleads.

He run his thumb over her knuckles.

“I can’t.”

She tilts her head back, making an exasperated noise.

“Seven hells, what is it now?”

He cracks a smile.

“I can’t say I don’t feel the same way,” he whispers, “because it’s not true.”

Her head snaps up. She watches him intently, desperate to understand.

“If you are fucking with me,” she says slowly, “I will never forgive you. I will feed you to Nymeria.”

He believes her. It doesn’t stop him from rising up on his knees and bringing their faces within a breath of each other.

“I,” he cups her cheek, “love,” he traces the curve of her lower lip, “you.”

He kisses her.

She’s still for a moment, not even breathing. Then, slowly, her lips begin to move against his. Her arms come up to wrap around his neck, and when she’s got a good grip he stands, dragging her up with him, never breaking the kiss, until her feet are practically dangling off the ground. Giggling into his mouth, she stands up on the chair so she’s taller than him. This sets him off, and he laughs so hard they have to break apart.

Finally, he settles and takes a second to admire her. She’s never looked lovelier.

She traces the collar of his shirt, smiling to herself. “So, if you love me–”

“I do.”

“Good. But this means we’re together, right? Like, this time we _both_ understand we’re dating?”

 _My girlfriend, Arya_. Mental. Completely mental.

“Definitely. Although,” he adds, making a face, “maybe we don’t tell your family just yet?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” she says bluntly. “That’s gonna be a shitshow.”

They both nod. She plants another kiss on him, and he swings her around, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“Bedroom?” she murmurs.

“Bedroom.”

-

They’re eating breakfast when Hot Pie walks in.

Well, they’re trying to eat breakfast.

Well, Arya’s sitting in his lap, trying to feed him toast, and he’s having more fun nipping at her fingers.

Breakfast is happening, basically. A much better version of it.

And that’s what Hot Pie walks in on. He doesn’t even blink, just wanders over to the kettle to make himself a cuppa.

“Morning, Arry,” he chirps. “Morning, Gendry.”

“Morning, Hot Pie,” Arya says, giggling as Gendry tries to take a bite of her. “Day off today?”

“Afternoon shift. I see you two have worked things out,” Hot Pie comments, raising his mug to them.

Arya smiles proudly at Gendry. _You gonna tell him or should I?_ her eyes ask. Gendry gives her a squeeze and turns his head to face Hot Pie.

“We’re together,” he announces. “Arya’s my girlfriend.”

“I’m happy for you both,” Hot Pie tells them with a broad grin.

“Cheers.”

“How about you?” Arya asks. “Are things going well with that nice caterer from the party?”

Hot Pie’s face shutters.

“It didn’t work out,” he says bravely. “We were from two different worlds.”

Arya nods understandingly while Gendry struggles not to roll his eyes.

“You’ll find someone,” Arya reassures him. “Let me know if you ever want me to set you up with anyone. We really owe you, so if there’s anything we can do to repay you, just say the word.”

“Actually, there is.” Hot Pie pulls his phone out of the pocket of his robe, tapping the screen. A second later, Gendry hears his phone and Arya’s buzz from the living room.

“What is it?” Gendry asks, craning his neck.

“It’s a receipt for some noise-cancelling headphones. I ordered them last night when I came back in and you two were … celebrating. I’ll leave it up to you if you both want to send me half or just have one person Venmo me. No rush. Again, so happy for you.”

Arya and Gendry wince as he takes his tea and shuffles back to his bedroom, then burst into laughter the moment his door shuts.

“We deserve this,” Gendry admits.

“Small price to pay,” Arya concedes happily, “if I get to be with y– _mmph!_ ”

Dishes are swept aside, and Arya quickly becomes the meal laid out for him.

From behind his door, Hot Pie’s voice trails out before he turns up his music to drown out the noise of a messy eater.

_“And you better sanitise that table when you’re done!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the woodpecker, not only for pecking at me as always but for checking to make sure my British dialect was slightly more convincing than Dick van Dyke's.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [@arsenicandfinelace](http://arsenicandfinelace.tumblr.com/).


End file.
